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[DAUGHTER of Gabriele Rossetti, and sister of D. G. Rossetti; born at London, Dec. 5, 1830. Author of Goblin Market and Other Poems, 1862; The Prince's Progress and Other Poems, 1866; Commonplace and Other Short Stories in Prose, 1870; Sing Song, A Nursery Rhyme Book, 1872; Speaking Likenesses, 1874: Annus Domini, a Prayer for every day in the year, 1874; A Pageant and Other Poems, 1881; Called to be Saints, 1881.]

MAUDE CLARE. Out of the church she followed them

With a lofty step and mien : His bride was like a village maid,

Maude Clare was like a queen.

'Son Thomas,” his lady mother said,

With smiles, almost with tears: • May Nell and you but live as true

As we have done for years; • Your father thirty years ago

Had just your tale to tell;
But he was not so pale as you,

Nor I so pale as Nell.”
My lord was pale with inward strife,

And Nell was pale with pride;
My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare

Or ever he kissed the bride.

She turn’d to Nell: “ My Lady Nell,

I have a gift for you; Though, were it fruit, the bloom were

Or, were it flowers, the dew.
“ Take my share of a fickle heart,

Mine of a paltry love:
Take it or leave it as you will,

I wash my hands thereof." “And what you leave,” said Nell, “ I'll

take, And what you spurn I'll wear; For he's my lord for better and worse,

And him I love, Maude Clare.

“Yea, though you're taller by the head,

More wise, and much more fair; l'll love him till he loves me best,

Me best of all, Maude Clare.”

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(DAUGHTER of Mr. Wm. Ingelow, late of Ipswich, Suffolk: born about 1830. Her first vol. ume of poems came out in 1863, and five years afterwards A Story of Doom and Other

Poems appeared. Miss Ingelow's other published works have been in prose, viz.: Studies for Stories, 1864; Stories told to a Child; Mopsa, the Fairy, 1869; of the Skelligs, 1873; Fated to be Free, 1875; Sarah de Berenger, 1880; Don John, 1883. Her poems have obtained a remark. able degree of popularity, both in this country and in England.)

THE COMING IN OF THE MERMAIDEN." THE moon is bleached as white as wool, Some with their heart-hunger sighed, And just dropping under;

She's in — and they are sleeping. Every star is gone but three,

And they hang far asunderThere's a sea-ghost all in gray,

O! now with fancied greetings blest, A tall shape of wonder!

They comfort their long aching: The sea of sleep hath borne to them

What would not come with waking, I am not satisfied with sleep, –

And the dreams shall most be true The night is not ended.

In their blissful breaking. But look how the sea-ghost comes,

With wan skirts extended, Stealing up in this weird hour,

The stars are gone, the rose-bloom When light and dark are blended.

No blush of maid is sweeter; A vessel! To the old pier end

The red sun, half-way out of bed, Her happy course she's keeping; Shall be the first to greet her. I heard them name her yesterday : None tell the news, yet sleepers wake, Some were pale with weeping;

And rise, and run to meet her.


Their loss they have, they hold; from

A keener bliss they borrow.
How natural is joy, my heart !

How easy after sorrow!
For once, the best is come that hope

Promised them “to-morrow.”

Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny

bride! It's we two, it's we two, happy side by

side. Take a kiss from me thy man; now the

song begins : “ All is made afresh for us, and the

brave heart wins."

When the darker days come, and ne

sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll

dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the

world's away, Sitting by the golden sheaves on our


LOVE'S THREAD OF GOLD. In the night she told a story,

In the night and all night through, While the moon was in her glory,

And the branches dropped with dew. 'Twas my life she told, and round it

Rose the years as from a deep; In the world's great heart she found it,

Cradled like a child asleep. In the night I saw her weaving

By the misty moonbeam cold, All the weft her shuttle cleaving

With a sacred thread of gold. Ah! she wept me tears of sorrow,

Lulling tears so mystic sweet; Then she wove my last to-morrow,

And her web lay at my feet. Of my life she made the story: I must weep

—SO soon 'twas told! But your name did lend it glory,

And your love its thread of gold !

DOMINION. [From Songs with Preludes.] Yon moored mackerel fleet

Hangs thick as a swarm of bees, Or a clustering village street

Foundationless built on the seas.

The mariners ply their craft,

Each set in his castle frail; His care is all for the draught,

And he dries the rain-beaten sail

For rain came down in the night,

And thunder muttered full oft, But now the azure is bright,

And hawks are wheeling aloft.

LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT. It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for

aye, All the world and we two, and Heaven

be our stay. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny

bride! All the world was Adam once, with Eve

by his side. What's the world, my lass, my love !.

what can it do? I am thine, and thou art mine; life is

sweet and new. If the world have missed the mark, let

it stand by, For we two have gotten leave, and once

more we'll try.

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(RDWARD ROBERT BULWER LYTTON, son of the great novelist_and poet, was born Nov. 8 1831. Educated at Harrow, and afterwards at Bonn, in Germany. Entered the diplomatic service of the Crown in 1849, and has held important positions of trust at St. Petersburg, Constantino. ple, Vienna, and other European stations. Appointed in 1876 as the Viceroy of India, which office he resigned in 1880. His first work, Clytemnestra, The Earl's Return, and Other Poems, was published in 1855. The Wanderer; a Collection of Poems in Many Lands, appeared in 1859. This was followed in 1860 by Lucile, which has proved more popular than any of his works. Among his other works are Tannhauser, 1861; The Ring of Amasis, a prose romance, 1863: Fables in Song, 1874; and several volumes of prose writings, including a biography of his father, 1883–1884. In 1867, a collected edition of The Poetical Works of Owen Meredith appeared in two volumes, and were republished in the United States, where most of them had previously appeared.]

The lake is calm; and, calm, the skies All bright below; all pure above;

In yonder cloudless sunset glow, No sense of pain, no sign of wrong; Where, o’er the woodland, homeward Save in thy heart of hopeless love, flies

Poor Child of Song! The solitary crow;

Why must the soul through Nature No moan the cushat makes to heave

rove, A leaflet round her windless nest; At variance with her general plan? The air is silent in the eve;

A stranger to the Power, whose love The world's at rest.

Soothes all save Man?

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